Just find out a poem I wrote when I was 17. It' called Real Dream:
Stop crying myself to sleep
Dreaming is not realistic
Every time when the day breaks
Why do I feel so unrest
Because I dreamed a dream
Dream that I was in heaven
The shadow looked transparent
It's a blurry dream
Though my eyes were wide-open
I couldn't tell what I really wanted to express, but I do understand how I felt when those words were coming out through my mouth. I remember that I put an emphasis on the last sentence, which shows the main idea of this poem. I feli like dreaming, though my eyes were wide-open. This is how ambivalence feels like. Not so ture, not fake, either. That was a hard time for me. Even by now, I somehow can taste bitter between words and lines.
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